Cannibalistic
by agirlcalledprissy
Summary: AU In a moment of weakness, Harry Potter is casted out of the muggle world through the murder of the Dursleys. Sociopath! Cannibal! Harry Future HP/LV/TMR Slash (possible pairings later)
1. Chapter 1

Cannibalistic

Rated: M

Genre: horror/angst

Pairings: Future HP/LV/TMR, possible slash and other pairings later in the story

Summary: AU In a moment of weakness, Harry Potter is casted out of the muggle world through the murder of the Dursleys. Sociopath! Cannibal! Harry Future HP/LV/TMR Slash

Warning: I do not own any of J. K. Rowling's works. There is some contents of violence and cannibalism; People who don't mind – enjoy.

"Talk"

_~Parseltongue~_

_Thoughts…_

* * *

It was a dreary afternoon with grey skies covering the cold sun. A little boy, a mere seven year old with an old drab backpack, walked calmly in the park near his school. He walked there, alone – always alone, in the cold, damp park. It had just rained heavily in the morning; the murky brown mud coated his feet and calves as he strode onwards. The boy's piercing green eyes stood out from his too pale face as he watched the occasional squirrel passed by the concrete path. The pale boy then took out a small bag, full of seeds and nuts, from his old bag and poured a small portion of the food into his left hand to feed the squirrels.

An eager grey squirrel noticed the gesture from the tree and quickly raced the tree trunk down in loops. It stopped just far enough from the thin child. The green-eyed boy smiled ever so slightly at the squirrel which came hesitantly towards him, eager for the tasty treat. The squirrel hopped slowly and grabbed a small seed from the kind boy's hand. It munched the morsel of food down instantly and took more from the left hand.

Suddenly, the boy's other hand had grabbed the squirrel between its furry body. The squirrel squirmed to get free from the kind boy's claw-like grip. But it was no use; he snapped squirrel's neck quick and efficiently with both hands. Bits of seed and nuts fell to the ground as the squirrel lay limply in the pale boy's hand.

Dinner was served.

* * *

In the house of 4 Privet Drive, there lived a sad young child named Harry Potter in a shoe cupboard. The boy was 7 years old with a small, malnourished stature. His ebony hair was unkempt and reached the nape of his neck. Although his thin form was covered in overly large hand-me-downs, his emerald green eyes shone through like a pure gem. Barely able to sit straight in his cupboard, he longed for someone to love him. The boy had never known love nor recalled a simple hug in his memories of living with his relatives, the Dursleys. Yet, he still blissfully waited – and desperately hoped – for someone to take him away.

"Boy! Get in here!" a booming voice screamed. He knew he must have done one of the many household chores wrong. It was a routine with his uncle which usually ended up with Harry being whipped or beaten.

Harry Potter cringed at the sound of his uncle's ungodly bellowing; he fearfully scramble into the kitchen. The green-eyed boy's uncle, Vernon Dursley, was sitting in the kitchen table, opposite from his wife, Petunia Dursley nee Evans, and his whale of a cousin, Dudley Dursley. The man breathed heavily, as if he was about to breathe his last. Dudley shrieked delightfully, knowing that Harry was going to get punished for "being the freak" as usual. They were having perfectly normal dinner as a family which did not include the pale boy.

Their eyes bored accusing holes into Harry. Uncle Vernon must have had a bad day at work. "You! Boy! You burned the steak!" Vernon yelled, his eyes budged from his sockets and his face glowed an unnatural shade of red. "You poor excuse for a little dirty rat! I asked for medium-rare, not piece of shit medium!"

The pale boy mumbled softly an excuse. He knew his place; the last time he had argued with his uncle, he had ended up with a swollen face and a pair of black eyes.

"You worthless little freak! You need to learn proper respect! I ought to beat you with my belt!" The red-faced man yelled as he shoved his chair aside and stepped menacingly towards the little boy. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impending punishment. Thankfully, Aunt Petunia stopped her husband with her arm and whispered something about freaks and police into the raging man. Whatever Aunt Petunia had whispered to Uncle Vernon, it had seemed to work as the man sat down again – sparing Harry from physical punishment. His aunt screeched loudly, "Boy, go to your cupboard! No dinner! Two weeks cupboard for you! Think about what you did wrong!"

The small boy hurried out of the room with grateful tears in his eyes and crawled into his dark cupboard fearfully. He heard the sound of steel locking furiously against the door of his cupboard. He huddled in his dingy mattress as he covered himself with a thin blanket, crying quietly into his dirty pillow. _At least, I didn't get hit this time... _He thought optimistically.

* * *

It was at least 20 days since Harry had been locked in the cupboard without food or water. He had no concept of time in the cold, dark cupboard. He surveyed his surroundings; spiders crawled in and out of the cracks in the wooden panels of the cupboard. Ants hurried over his bed sheets as they went back to their homes. The squirrel had dwindled into picked-clean bones already and Harry was forced to eat spiders and other insects that lived in the cupboard. Harry's bones were almost visible under his skin – signal of extreme malnourishment and neglect. Too tired to move, he could not get up if he tried.

The Dursleys must have forgotten about locking him up. Harry whispered a desperate plead with dried cracked lips, "God, please… save… me…" The malnourished child could not cry nor move anymore. His tear ducts dried up like a river and muscles ached painfully. He knew that God only loved good little boys like Dudley. He shut his eyes, waiting for death to reach him. Perhaps, he would finally find peace in the afterlife.

Harry then shivered and shuddered in agonizing pain; the sensation was similar to being burned alive. Something had coursed through him, as if it was moulding and helping him through the darkness. The little boy's body shifted and contorted in the unsettling darkness. Harry soon blacked out after his horrific seizure.

-Time Skip-

**(Warning: graphic violence and mentions of cannibalism – skip if you don't want read; you have been warned.)**

Harry had woken up, hunger still in his belly, and shivered; It was colder than usual for his liking. Someone was knocking on his door and a metal clicking noise could be heard. He could see the light through his silted eyes, blurring his vision. He wasn't used to the beams of sunlight as he was stuck in the cupboard for so long. Strangely, he felt better than when he was in the last couple of days - more agile and weirdly, craved rare flesh.

The door opened slightly wider, revealing Aunt Petunia's uncovered ankles. The ghastly woman rapped – yet again - against the wooden cupboard door. "You better be dressed n' ready to get on with breakfast!" Her shrill voice said, bell-like sounds rung in Harry's ears. She then opened the cupboard door wide open and reached for Harry's clothes – to drag the boy out from the depths of the darkness. His aunt yelped as her hand touched cool reptilian scales.

"W-what?! S-snake!" Aunt Petunia screamed in fright. _Where is this snake…?_ Harry thought. He was too hungry to care about such matters.

_She looks tasty though…_ _**Rip… Tear… Eat…**_

Aunt Petunia froze in shock as she looked straight at Harry, tearing at the thought of running away or killing the said snake. Her frighten gaze met Harry's – she had been petrified by something, most probably, fear. Harry could no longer wait for a reply from the petrified women and gave into the insane flesh-craving desires in his mind. He then promptly leapt into the air and sunk his fangs into his aunt's neck. Her silent screams for help were cut off as her head fell, with a dull thud, onto the cold, wooden floor. Her throat was torn out as red globs of blood dripped out of the neck wound. She could never recover from an injury like that.

_It wasn't enough. He was still so __**hungry**__._

Vernon, still in his bed robes, came stomping down the stairs as he drowsily stumbled towards the open cupboard. "s'what's the matter, Pep?" The fat man affectionately called out to his wife. Harry had already slivered over his aunt's rapidly cooling corpse and gave into his added thoughts. It was too late to shout as Harry had jumped his uncle and snapped the man's neck with powerful jaws and fangs filled with poisonous venom. The poison should be pumping throughout his uncle's fat blubber of a body – giving the fat lard a deadly seizure. The man couldn't even lift a finger as he too fell to the ground beside his dead wife. _Funny how the man was so devoted to his wife in his last moments when he had cheated on her with other women…_ Harry smelt his uncle's shame with his tongue.

_Another body to feast upon… _

-**(End of graphic content)-**

It would be an hour later when the green-eyed snake claims his next victim, his useless cousin Dudley, whom obviously slept like a rock through the murders of his parents. Three blood-soaked bodies lay on the ground; their hearts had stopped long ago from the severe injuries. As Harry fed on his food - the corpses of his relatives, he couldn't help but notice the reflection of the mirror in the hallway to the kitchen. He didn't see his reflection, a short scrawny boy, in the mirror, but an abnormally thin 6 ft. snake with scales black as night sky and bright green orbs for eyes. Bits and pieces of food lounged in his gut.

_It couldn't be. It isn't possible!_ He thought dizzily and horrified at his actions. But he was a freak that had stranger things happening to him before. He opened his mouth to see if it was true. The black snake, in return, had opened its mouth which reveals long sharp fangs dripping with poison. It was true – he was no longer a boy, but a cold-blooded snake.

_~h-how is this possible?~_ the snake hissed at him in the mirror. He could speak snake! He gleefully giggled in shock if snakes could giggle; it was actually a series of short hisses. He was free from doing the laundry, dishes and all the horrible chores that the Dursleys had forced him to do. Yet, he felt a sense of despair and dread as he thought of the lonely, dark world outside. He could no longer be in this house. He never called this place "home" as he never felt the warmth of love or adoration from the filth that lived in this suburban house.

_~How can I turn back?~_ Harry hissed to himself. He had to think of a plan to cover this up before anyone notices that the Dursleys were indeed not among the living anymore. No one can know about this. After several long minutes of contemplation, Harry knew what he would do.

* * *

MAN-EATING SNAKE AT LARGE

_By Quincy Swallow_

_At 10 am, November 23, officers broke into the Dursley residence only to find gruesome half-digested remains of the Dursleys. No one has appeared to be living at the residence for some time since November 15. The large snake appears to have left the premises and may have also killed the Dursleys' nephew, Harry Potter. Shocked neighbor, Arabella Figg, reported this to the authorities, and had this to say, "I was so worried when the Dursleys had not been out for at least 5 days since I saw them a few weeks ago." No one has yet to identify the neither breed nor whereabouts of this large reptile. No photos have been taken of the serpent. Please call animal control and run away if you see this large snake._

The rest of the paper was soaked in rainwater, making it unreadable to the serpent. Harry felt slightly safer, now that people thought he too had perished in the snake ordeal. He had slithered his way into the suburban streets due to an unclosed window in the house and made his way to the deep green forest. There, he thought, no one would find him amidst all the other animals of the forest. It was luck that helped him to find a nest of other snakes. The snakes there had no names, but were threatened by the intruder. He lifted his second eyelids and killed one of the hatchlings there. They promptly introduced themselves, out of fear for their lives, and proclaimed that they hadn't known Harry was a Prince of Snakes. He didn't know what to say to that, but he wasn't certainly a prince of anything, but the friendly serpents had insisted that it was his birthright due to his magically race.

Harry then learned that he could kill small animals with his mere gaze and hunting had become easier for him. He quickly became the prized leader with the snakes of the forest - aptly named, Forbidden Forest or Taure en' Gurtha in old elvish tongue.

It had been a month already since his vengeance was dealt. Harry assimilated into the highest den near the sun, which was given to the leaders of the serpents. The snake population there rejoiced at their new leader, a night-shaded Basilisk with a scar above its left eye. Their enemies would fear the sight of the large black serpent with a lightning-bolt scar that marred the mitre-shaped crown on its head.

A young mud- colored serpent slithered hesitantly into Harry's abode; the serpent knew he would die if he had displeased the prince. Harry learnt that kindness and gratitude was not welcome in the snake den, but cunning and fear ruled the old ways of the serpentine. Harry nodded slightly, allowing the lesser-ranked snake to speak.

_~Hail Prince of Serpents! May the Great One, __Ourobouros__, heat your scales with vengeance.~_ A young brown hatchling, Biter, quivered. Harry replied with the usual greeting, _~Ourobouros shall shine bright on you, young serpent. What brings you to my den, Biter?~ _His forked tongue flicked out attentively.

_~There are sights from our sisters that a bee-nest wearing human has entered the east of our lands. We fear that the human may make us look… weak.~ _The mere hatchling rasped, fear could be smelt within this little one. Harry chuckled at Biter's antics and responded _~I shall personally go see what this is about. The human may offer a meal out of it or you shall.~ _The mud-colored reptile shook with fear at the thought of being digested by the prince of serpents and lead his leader to the intruder's site. The now 8 ft. black Basilisk slithered quickly out of his home and followed in pursuit.

* * *

Taure en' Gurtha = forest of death

_Ourobouros _= a greek god of creation; in the shape of a serpent that is eating its own tail

A/N: I made Harry into an imcompleted animagi because the plot will thicken better. Voldmort will be introduced next chapter :P


	2. Chapter 2

**Cannibalistic**

Rated: M

Genre: horror/angst/romance

Pairings: Future HP/LV/TMR, possible slash and other pairings later in the story

Summary: AU In a moment of weakness, Harry Potter is casted out of the muggle world through the murder of the Dursleys. Sociopath! Cannibal! Harry Future HP/LV/TMR Slash

Warning: I do not own any of J. K. Rowling's works. There are some contents of violence and cannibalism; People who don't mind – enjoy.

"Talk"

_~Parseltongue~_

_Thoughts…_

* * *

Chapter 2: Pact of lies and deceit

_There once was a boy named Harry Potter who lived in a dirty old shoe cupboard._

_He was bruised, broken and beaten by his evil uncle and aunt._

_But one day, his parents came to his doorstep and took him away from his horrible relatives. _

Harry made up this mantra about himself when he was lonely and sad, now it was a reminder that he was still Harry Potter, a seven-year old boy. He once forgotten he was actually a boy; he had woken up one morning and forgot his own name – it terrified him to his very core. So, he had written his name over and over on the walls of his cold den to remind himself that he was human. The other snakes that lived near him never understood what he wrote on the walls – they never experienced being a human. Being a boy in a snake's body meant having a limited memory and conflicting desires. He craved the raw flesh of humans, but he didn't want to hurt anyone - nothing tasted as good as his first feast anyways. These horrible thoughts usually come, once awhile, to haunt him with nightmares and visions of his dead relatives. They begged and grasped at his dream-like body, still missing the eaten flesh from their bones. Their milky white eyes told the hatred and fear of him – what he had become.

A soft hiss from Biter snapped Harry out of his thoughts. They had a wild human loose in their territory. It would not look well with the Acromantulas, giant black spiders of the south, to show such folly in the eyes of a dangerous enemy. Many of his kin perished when they wandered into the spider nests. The last time Harry had met with the Acromantulas was with their leader, a blind elder Acromantula named Aragog. He had barely scared them away with his sight. There were tales of another basilisk due south at a children's castle. But the signs of an older basilisk never appeared.

They had approached a clearing which bared no hint of life; the grass was brown and dead, and the birds never sung in this part of Taure en' Gurtha (1). An eerily whimpering human stood in the center of the clearing, talking to himself. The tall, yet hunched pale-faced man was dressed in a dark navy set of robes and had a school insignia stitched to his breast. His face was wet with tears and held a look of despair upon his brow. "No! No! This wasn't supposed to be like this! I am stronger than you!" The turban-wearing man whispered fiercely. "I am in control of you. That was the deal!" A ghastly disembodied voice spoke back - barely above a whisper, "…Dear Quirinus, you knew you could not win against me, the dark lord. Your hubris and lust for fame and glory has handed your demise. You will serve me faithfully or die as I shall rip your mind apart and claim your body as my own." The turban man, Quirinus, sobbed and unraveled the turban to reveal a grotesque burnt and rotting humanoid face that shouldn't belong to any living being. It was the face of the wraith in his nightmares.

The young mud-colored garden snake quivered in horror and rasped quietly, _~Dear Great One…~ _

Harry merely grimaced and started to bare his fangs, adrenaline pumped through his veins. _When it comes down to the hard times, one had to have faith in god..._ He thought in despair.

The face sensed the two snakes amidst the shadows of the forest and detached itself from Quirinus whom promptly fell to the ground unconscious, and enveloped the brown snake in a magical cocoon of shadows. The reptile choked and spluttered as if the very air he breathed was toxic. A few seconds later, Biter's body shifted and convulsed – an obvious sign of a corpse being possessed by the shadow wraith. Harry was, to say the least, shocked; He had yet to meet a foe such as this. _What is this horrifying creature's name?_ The snake boy mused.

The shadow-like wraith spoke in an old fashion English accent, ~My name… is… Lord Voldemort.~ The specter seemed to pause in its train of thought, ~You are not a basilisk; you stink of accidental magic.

_~M-my name is Harry, speaker.~_ The black basilisk stuttered. _~I-i was once a boy, but was changed into a snake. Please don't hurt me like Biter! I'll do anything!~ _

'Lord Voldemort' merely nodded and gazed into Harry's eyes, plunging into the unprotected young mind. Harry's mind had _torn apart _like a thousand needles spearing his pink fleshy brain. Harry's mind was open like a book to Lord Voldemort and the wraith rejoiced with a deep, sinister laughter. The wraith flipped through his memories with ease, looking through every punishment Harry had endured from the Dursleys. The wraith pulsed with rage and excitement for unknown reasons; Voldemort had found something of value in the snake-child's mind. It delightfully murmured in Harry's brain; the fact that Harry was not just a basilisk, but an incomplete animagi with magical blood. In short, it meant that Harry could do magic and the worst part was that the wraith was a wizard once. The wraith, "Lord Voldemort", then wore Harry like a skin, feeding off the young basilisk's magical core.

_Harry Potter… Today is your lucky day. You have proven your worth to me, Lord Voldemort._ The wraith whispered in Harry's mind. _You shall be rewarded for your services…later. But I shall need the control of your body._

Lord Voldemort muttered a quick spell relying on Harry's magic reserves – _imper-what? _– to the unconscious man, Quirinus. The man woke up, but had a dazed look on his deathly pale face now. He slowly reached into his pocket and grabbed a tiny broomstick from within. He then unshrunk the broom to its original size.

"It seems that the chessboard has changed, dear Quirinus, now that I have my trophy, _Harry Potter_. It shall be grand when I rule Wizarding Britain and Europe… But it is a shame that you won't be seeing that day…" Harry's possessed scaly voice bristled, with charisma and an distinct lingering 's' accent. "Come now, little Harry, we must not dilly dally. For, we have a long journey to travel to one of my loyal minions. I promise I won't hurt… much." It was strange to hear English again, from Harry's own body. The boy hadn't spoken his native language in a long time. The wraith-possessed serpent then slithered onto Quirinus' neck; its shape was similar to a morbid necklace. Quirinus then rode the broomstick into the gray sunless skies.

* * *

Quirinus Quirrel, also known as the Muggles Studies Professor at Hogwarts, wore a long black snake around his neck, was riding a broom to an unknown destination. The weather was atrocious to say the least; hail, rain and dark gray clouds obscured the lone traveller from any careful eyes. The professor's facial expression was still of a drunken daze – an obvious sign of an impero'd fool. The obsidian snake on the traveller's neck hissed to itself in opposing tone – as if it was arguing with itself.

**-Voldemort's POV-**

_You seem cold, little Harry._ I softly cooed in mock-concern. _Do you wish for some warmth?_

A boyish tenor voice bite back, _~You won't care. You are Heosphoros (2) in the making.~_

I chuckled at the snake-child's blunt insult and replied, _I have heard that one many times over – whether it is Lucifer or other late Dark lords. If I tell you something about your parents, what will you do for me? _He knew that Potter would take the bait - orphans all wanted to know about their parents; he knew that from experience. The boy was sharing a body with him; it would be wise to have some ties with the boy. The best part was that the old fool, Dumbledore, never met the boy in person nor did he talk about his parents' deaths! The boy's ignorance will be Dumbledore's downfall.

Potter seemed to ponder on this deal and finally stated carefully, _~I will help you to get your revenge, Lord Voldemort – isn't that what wraiths usually want? - But first, I want a promise, a magical one.~ _

_Fine, what are your terms? I do not wish to merely have my revenge. I only wish to reclaim my human body back. _I hissed back in his mind. I wasn't an imbecile to actually promise anything that would affect me negatively. Besides, the boy was one of my horcruxes – the seventh one. Dumbledore may have tricked me into focusing on the prophecy, but I have the upper hand now.

_~I too want to be a boy again. You have to promise that you will change me back to a boy… and you won't kill me.~ _Harry mumbled. I could sense his fear, his true form and his very soul. What a delicious pure 'Avada Kedevra' emerald core and such power… it would be better to mould this boy into a perfect servant.

_That is only fair. I promise you that I will change you back to a boy and I will not kill you._ I whispered seductively from the corners of Harry's dark abyss of a mind. _I'll protect you from the unsavory muggles – the ones who hunt you for murdering your dead relatives. You have quite the cannibalistic streak, dear Harry…Do not worry about those below you. They deserved to be eaten by a wizard…_

_~Stop spouting your pleasantry! Swear it on your magic!~_ Harry angrily hissed back.

_I swear it. _I feel a slight tug on my magic, a sign of the magical contract. _I hope you are satisfied with these terms._ I would curse this boy's cunning, but it only proves how valuable he will become for my world dominance. _About your parents… James Potter and Lily Potter were quite talented in witchcraft… The only fault they had was their trust in the leader of light, Albus Dumbledore. _I began to weave a skillful tale of truths and half-lies to the boy with well-placed images in his mindscape. I told the boy about the prophecy, the night in which I murdered his parents; carefully including promises of letting them live, the blame of Dumbledore's misplaced belief in love. I sneered at the concept of love, the guide of imbeciles and crackpots while Potter hissed his agreement. _Power was the only thing I needed after all…_

We had a long ways to go to reach the manor. But, I must write up my letter to a certain loyal minion, and list the dark side's traitors that would suffer when I reclaim my body – which included Severus Snape. I do not trust Snape to be as loyal to the cause after his betrayal, but his skills, as a potion master and a spy, was second to none.

* * *

They were nearing their destination – a remote manor in the middle of a wasteland. The manor was surrounded by unearthly beautiful gardens and giant forest green hedges. The grounds were dotted with various colours of the rainbow. The manor held a tense, foreboding air with its gothic white structure, tall dragon scuptures on the roof of the building, and an elegant golden 'M' insignia on the black double front doors. They were all the signs of a rich, well-off family. Harry tensed up; he remembered the ways the Dursleys had taught him to avoid talking or meeting important people. Lord Voldemort soothed the boy's nervous thoughts and commanded Quirrel to descend softly to the front entrance of the manor. The brainwashed turban-wearing man knocked on the door and a short bug-eyed elf-like creature, wearing nothing but a pillowcase, answered the door. Quirrel then passed a letter to the creature, who was called Tipsy, and waited outside.

* * *

(1) Taure en' Gurtha = elvish for 'forest of death'

(2) Heosphoros = Greek word for "bringer of dawn"/morning star; basically, Satan

A/N: Happy Canadian Thanksgivings! I have been really busy with college midterms – last year before University. : C I decided to forgo some of the usual names for HP places mainly because serpents have their own culture too. They're that smart in this story. Sue me.

On the side note, what do you guys think about Cedric as a childhood friend? Evil trio – Malfoy, Hermione, Harry? I have a list of possible chapters, just haven't got the time to write a lot :c

Any suggestions on possible side pairings? : O

Please critique.


	3. Chapter 3

**Cannibalistic**

Rated: M

Genre: horror/angst/romance

Pairings: Future HP/LV/TMR, possible slash and other pairings later in the story

Summary: AU In a moment of weakness, Harry Potter is casted out of the muggle world through the murder of the Dursleys. Sociopath! Cannibal! Harry Future HP/LV/TMR Slash

Warning: I do not own any of J. K. Rowling's works. There are some contents of violence and cannibalism; People who don't mind – enjoy.

A/N: It seems that some people in the reviews are questioning why Harry would say 'god' or religious terminology. Basically if you're in a dangerous situation, you'll most fall back on your roots, which is _muggle-raised_ stuff. If you didn't like how I phrase diction, deal with it. I'll probably use magical and serpent swears when Harry gets into the wizarding world. Ugh, 9 pages of fiction! Btw, 1,108 views and 13 reviews!

"Talk"

_~Parseltongue~_

_Thoughts…_

* * *

Chapter 3: Rebirth and Death

* * *

**-Lucius Malfoy's POV-**

The silver-blonde man, in his thirties, sat regally in front of a stone fireplace in a plush velvet armchair. The room he sat in was painted in darkly serpent green; white carved serpents, phoenixes and Abraxens decorated the trim of the traditional-styled sun room. The west side of the sun room magically held 9 ft. of large glass paneling for all to view the elegantly kept gardens of the Malfoy Manor. The three magical portraits of his father, grandfather and great-grandfather hung on the north wall above the fireplace - all wearing a stiff glance of approval. The three painted men were Lucius Malfoy' mentors in the business of politics and pure-blood circles. His father, Abraxus Malfoy, was one of the original followers of Lord Voldemort and had Wizengamot in iron clutches before he had unfortunately passed away from Dragon Pox. Lucius inherited all of his Malfoy characteristics which included an interest in politics, and none of his mother's, a Van Laisse, horrible rebellious nature. The Ministry of Magic related paperwork and meetings were finished or postponed to a later date, and Wizengamot court did not have a session today. Today, it is seems as though Lucius Malfoy could spend the day with his young son, Draconis Lucius Malfoy. His loyal wife, Narcissia Malfoy nee Black, was away on a trip with other wealthy pureblood wives in Spain. She would not be back until a few days, at least.

His son, Draco, was playing with his training broomstick in the southern green fields and his most trusted house-elf, Gibby, was supervising the play time. Lucius allowed a small smile to grace his usually impassive exterior. Sometimes, Lucius wished he had more precious time to spend with his family, but with the fall of the Dark Lord, all of his former followers were either locked up in Azkaban or were constantly watched in the magic ministry for any hint of treason. When Lucius was younger, he imagined what it would be like if he had stayed true to the dark cause. Yet, his beloved Narcissia was with child at the time and he could not go to the dreaded wizard prison. Dark magic had fallen to its knees to the disgusting light wizards by the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. He was reduced to a life of an idle politician, secretly waiting for Lord Voldemort's return from the death like many others. Yet, Lucius knows the worst punishment would come from the Dark Lord. His wrath has no bounds; he was lucky to be trusted with two of the Dark Lord's possessions.

His doorman house-elf, Tipsy, apparated in front of him and informed him in broken English, "Professor Quirrel of Hogwarts wish to see Master. Tipsy is given letter from the Mister." It curtsied and with a cracking sound, went back to guard the front door. Presumably, Tipsy was expected to watch the guest for any hostility. It would not do if Malfoy house-elves were incompetent in any way.

The simply addressed letter was sealed in dark blood and had above-average wards surrounding it. It wasn't a visit from just anyone; it had the Morsmordre insignia upon the blood. The insignia would only show to those who had the dark mark and was specifically addressed to. Lucius' long fingers shook as he carefully opened the faded yellow envelope and a small note fell out. Long spiny letters were burnt into the white parchment paper with:

_I am waiting outside, Lucius._

_You have something of mine._

"Tipsy! Bring the guest into my study!" The frightened blonde commanded. He apparated into his personal study room and paced nervously around the room. A snivelling wet man in tattered robes entered his study; He did not seem like a threatening figure. He had seen this man before during his visits to the wizarding and witchcraft boarding school – an utter muggle-loving half-blood with no exceptional abilities. "What brings you here, Mister Quirrel?" Lucius asked smoothly, knowing he was in control of the situation again. He would wrestle what little information and trickery this blood traitor had to offer and it wouldn't be a challenge.

Quirrel merely replied, "_Crucio_." A red beam struck Lucius square in the chest. His vision was filled with splatters of white as he fell down onto the carpet in a pain-driven seizure. He heard screams and later realized it was his own. This man was not the muggle studies professor; his magical abilities were far too superior for a mere light-oriented muggle-lover. When the blonde minion was released from the Unforgiveable, his limps still slightly trembled from the torture curse like a withered leak in the wind. Lucius's knees wobbled as he pitifully tried to regain what little dignity he had left and mask his discomfort to his guest. The silent man, Quirrel, was clearly the mouthpiece of the Dark Lord – a messenger of death. A young black basilisk hung around his neck and hissed what seemed to be instructions into the muggle studies professor.

Lucius was frightened when the obsidian basilisk on Quirrel's neck had started to talk in a heavy accent, "Lucius, I see that you and your family have escaped from the war unscathed. How… fortunate that my followers have lived in luxury while I have been trapped without a body. Are you not pleased to see your lord born anew… or cowering in fear for your traitorous hide?" The reptile bared its venomous long fangs, a reminder of the agonizing death that Lucius may once dignified pure-blood grovelled in the presence of the large snake.

"I was not among those who betrayed our cause. By bidding my time, I was slowly allowed back into the ministry and board of governors." Lucius stammered. "There were those who doubted your return, but not I. I was waiting, with anxious patience, for your grand return, mi'lord. I knew you were return – stronger than before. And I was right to be patient!" He dared not to meet the serpent's eyes in fear of legimency.

"How… loyal, you are. Very well, you are lucky to be of use to your lord. I have decided to spare you and your family, only for your blood purity and loyalty to the dark cause." The dark lord hissed, rearing his host's body. "My lord, how can you speak with a basilisk's tongue?" Lucius cried incredulously. Magical creatures did not bend easily to humans who enter their minds; great creatures, such as a phoenix or a basilisk, had natural, resilient occlumency shields. He presumed Quirrel to be unaware of the mind arts, however this is the all-knowing Dark Lord he was speaking to. It was only by the luck of Slytherin that Lord Voldemort could not punish him with his own magic.

"It is a matter of adjusting vocal cords. Your surprised reaction is an insult to my magnificent power." The Dark Lord hissed simply. "Bring me the stone and the diary. My associates and I will wait in the study. And do not think about apparating away. Your boy would not live to see his next birthday if I smell a hint of treachery."

Lucius's face paled within seconds and hurried away to fetch the items which his lord required.

* * *

**-Normal POV- **

The diary and a sinister, yet beautiful precious stone were set carefully on the bare mahogany desk. The richly-clothed blonde aristocrat sweats profusely while the dark lord went about his work. Thick black smoke erupted from the black basilisk; painful hisses could be heard in the study. The animal lay limply on the floor as the wraith exited out of his young host. The wraith's form was ugly, yet somewhat beautiful in a creepy manner. The ghostly figure reeked of black magic and appeared to encompass an obscured pulsing light. The dark lord rattled a short breath of air and snarled, "The dragon's breath opal will be used in the ritual to regain my bodily form. In a week's time, Lucius shall be gathering items from a list of ingredients that I have written down for the body-resurrection ritual. The other treasure, a journal of my secret spells, is to be rewarded to Quirrel as he has done his service to me. You may go." The wraith rested in the opal, a stone of great power, and the multi-hued red and violet stone pulsed with a dark presence.

Quirrel was then lifted from the imperio curse, having heard all that was to have been said, and greedily snatched the diary off the desk, eager to start uncovering the book's secrets. "Quirrel, you may only write in the journal in Lucius' guest room that he has generously provided for you. The journal will reveal its secrets when you have poured out secrets of your own." Voldemort said craftily. "I shall call upon your service when I see fit." The ghost dissipated into the colourful stone, waiting for the ritual.

Malfoy showed the muggle studies professor to his lavish temporary room. The room was designed with impeccable taste – mahogany wooden panelling covered the lower part of the wall, a king-sized bed fitted in with the forest green accents, and a wall-mounted wardrobe. The wardrobe contained expensive trinkets and formal robes – more than what a teacher's salary could afford. Quirrel lapped it up and glared haughtily at the blonde host. Professor Quirrel was a guest of importance; Lucius Malfoy wouldn't risk his pretty little head for cursing the man who helped his dark lord. Quirrel smirked and motioned Malfoy to leave him alone. The blonde sneered at the professor and left Quirrel alone with a snake. He discarded his tattered old robes and changed into expensive ones. He looked in the mirror to admire his newfound wealth; it was worth it to aid Lord Voldemort. He was planning to leave when the moment arises, but the dimwitted dark lord gave him riches instead. His luck was turning up just like the divination professor had said. Quirrel gazed upon the innocent-looking journal that he had placed on his bed and grabbed a quill and a bottle of ink from the stationary desk. He wrote an experimental sentence in the journal: _My name is Quirinus Quirrel. I am the great muggles studies professor of Hogwarts and future headmaster of the top wizarding school._

The ink sunk into the clear page of the journal and disappeared. Quirrel stared in amazement as a reply in black ink appeared on the page – It was truly a work of magical mastery. Quirrel would milk this tome to its fullest; he would be powerful – more so than Dumbledore or even You-Know-Who! He already was fatally hooked on the compulsion magic of the diary. The professor giggled with ill intent as the ominous diary wrote back. He would be famous…

_Hello, My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle._

* * *

**-Harry's POV-**

The imbecile, Quirrel, had spent days after days in the guest room to uncover the secrets of the diary. Harry watched as a ghostly specter took form with each scribble that Quirrel had written. _What a dimwitted hatchling…_ Harry hissed in parseltongue; he had fun, yelling at the stupid human. The black basilisk had taken up residence in Quirrel's room, to ease his boredom and scare the professor. Harry could see why Voldemort could possess the Hogwarts professor; Quirrel was too idiotic to be considered a real threat. The pauper professor hardly ate anything or went out of the guest room – the adult slowly starved to death as the ghostly figure took corporal form. The figure, a young sixteen teenager, caressed the black basilisk and whispered back tender whispers of love to the reptile when the teen appeared out of the blue. Harry felt kinship with the ghost; he was a comforting presence in the lavish prison. Unwittingly, Quirrel died within a week; his cold forehead touched the diary as if the man was simply in a deep slumber. But Harry knew better; he licked his forked tongue and unhinged his jaw for his human meal. Why waste a perfectly good meal for inedible morals?

After swallowing the last of the professor, Harry lounged on the large bed. He felt wonderful and at ease, a rare moment for the snake-child. Something – _someone_ – was petting his smooth scales and whispered, _~ You are very beautiful for such a rare, fine specimen. You must be my familiar – I felt your soothing presence even when I was in the confines of that dreadful diary - but what is your name? It must be grand for a basilisk such as yourself. ~ _It was the teenage ghost again – but in the flesh. Harry got a better look at the unknown threat, baring his fangs in a scaring attempt. Ebony and brown locks framed the pale, aristocratic face of the teen with a sharp nose, thin pink lips, and most unusually, blood-red irises. His delicate fingers were long, blessed with a slightly broad chest, and carried a certain presence of attraction; in short, the sixteen year-old was the definition of perfected beauty. This older boy captivated the young snake-child's attention. If Harry had to become a possession of a human and stay as a basilisk forever, he would choose someone capable of speaking with him. An individual with such a velvety chocolate toned voice and innocent eyes could not be lying to the snake-child, but he would tread with the same caution as with his old and rotten school teachers.

Harry licked the teen's warm cheek and hissed, _~ I do not know what a familiar is. My name is… Harry. Speaker, what is your name? ~_ He snuggled up to the harmless speaker's warm figure. The boy hugged Harry close to his chest and laughed as Harry licked his cheek more in affection. Surely, this stranger could not be as evil as the wraith that used his body like a skin.

_~ Tom Marvolo Riddle at your service, sweet Harry. ~_ Tom replied charmingly. _~ A familiar is a bonded animal that helps wizards and witches. You, Harry, are worthy of being my new familiar. But I will rename you, Hadrian. I abhor that awful common name.~ _Tom stroked Harry's gleaming black scales and in return, Harry hissed with satisfaction. The young snake-childe loved the treatment; he had never known love this pure before. _~ I wonder if Abraxas is still alive? This looks like his family's manor, but it has been many years since I have seen the light of day. Come now. ~_ The handsome teen gathered Harry up, resting his girth on his shoulders, and proceeded to find the master of the house.

Tom walked down a familiar hallway. Harry tasted the teenager's skin – it tasted like ashes and ink – and smiled; he would remember this scent as one of the things that pleased him. Harry wondered if Tom would hurt him like Quirrel or the Dursleys. Of course not! Tom was an angel compared to the scum that Harry was forced to live with. The blonde-hair man, Mr. Malfoy, was in the living room when the brown-haired teen and his reptile companion walked aimlessly. Mr. Malfoy had jumped up at the intruders from his chair.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my manor?" Mr. Malfoy demanded, a glowing wooden stick pointing at Harry's master. Harry reared his scaly body into an aggressive fighting stance; no one would harm Tom. _~Stop. It is alright, little one.~_ Tom cooed to Harry. The older boy petted the snake-childe a little to calm Harry's nerves.

"Y-you speak parseltongue! Who are you? Where is Quirrel?" The middle-aged man stammered. The unknown Malfoy's hand gripped the white wand, preparing for a curse.

"The only important matter you should be concerned about is that Quirrel is dead. Where is Abraxus Malfoy? You do not look like any Malfoy I know of." Tom sneered haughtily. Harry's master must be more important than the blonde gentleman. Tom's position screamed of authority and power. "Tell him Lord Voldemort wishes to see him."

"Abraxus was my father. He passed away from Dragon Pox. You… Are you playing some kind of trickery? How do you know of my father?" Mr. Malfoy asserted. "You are not a friend of my father's. You are too young."

"_Crucio_." Tom said smoothly, a red beam from his hand shot at the Malfoy patriarch. The blonde flopped on the floor again like a ragdoll; his arms flailed and twitched in searing pain. The cruel teen ended the spell after a few seconds. Tom asked again, "There are portraits of past lords of your house. Where is Abraxus' portrait?"

"F-follow me." The Malfoy patriarch gestured for Tom and Harry to follow him into an unknown room. Lord Malfoy limped to the sun room; his hands were still shaking from the aftershocks of the Unforgiveable. They entered a beautiful room. Tom gently placed his Hadrian near the sun to bathe and nap. The teen then addressed the portrait of Abraxus Malfoy with a short nod. "How have you been, Abraxus? Life has been most dull after sealing myself in a magical artifact." Tom greeted.

The man in the portrait appeared to be in his late forties. There were wrinkles under the man's cool blue eyes, yet the cobalt irises sparkled with life and youth. Abraxus was dressed in a dark blue formal robe and adorned with various rings on his hand. Abraxus bowed deeply to the stern teen and spoke in a deep tenor, "My lord, Voldemort. You look as young as you did when we were in school together." His son, Lucius, gaped at the gesture of respect towards Tom Riddle and proceeded to bow deeply.

"Mi'Lord. Forgive me for my rude gesture. I did not know." Lucius apologized. His head was once again hanging by a thread.

"It is forgiven. You are the son of one of my original followers. What is your name?" The younger version of Voldemort stated diplomatically. The teen held a posture matched only by royalty and past Dark Lords, yet had the innocence of a youth that yet to see the horrors of his future. It would be a grave mistake if the blonde had decided to attack the young Tom Riddle in the living room.

"Lucius Malfoy, Mi'Lord." The current Malfoy patriarch murmured, still in a gracefully bow. "The preparations for the body resurrection ritual are complete. But what use of that ritual when you already obtained your youth?"

"Do not question my decisions. I will look over the letter that my older self has written to me." Tom replied stiffly. He then beckoned Lucius to leave his presence and engage in a light conversation with the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy. The last glance from the young teen as Lucius Malfoy left the room was condescending and cruel. After Abraxus had to leave for other duties amongst his other existing portrait frames, Tom looked over the letter that was written by his older self upon the plain desk. Tom had a malevolent smile upon his face as he plotted the demise of his older self. Tom Riddle would not lose the fight of dominance to anyone, especially to a person similar to himself.

* * *

It was Samhain again, Tom's first one in many years. Tom and his new familiar, Hadrian, had settled into his father's, Tom Riddle Senior, manor with the help of the many lent house-elves. The wards were still in place for the interior of the mansion, but had weakened greatly due to the untimely pseudo-death of his older self. Over the course of a lunar cycle, Tom learnt that his basilisk 'familiar' was once an abused half-blood that had ran away from his family. Maybe, it was the story's similarities to Tom's own past, but he couldn't turn away the snake-childe. It would be an asset for a young incomplete animagus to place loyalty to the young dark lord. As a token of affection, Tom had taught the snake-childe how to read - a skill that the despicable muggle relatives had conveniently forgotten to teach. It was a wonder how Hadrian had survived with his sanity, being forced to do what house-elves did.

Tom had left the sleeping snake on the bed of the renovated guest room. Little Hadrian was placed under a mild sleeping charm; Tom didn't want interruptions with the modified resurrection ritual. Tom used his father's bedroom as a temporary ritual room. He despised his newly discovered father and everything associated with the snobby muggle. The only satisfying revelation from his older counterpart was that he had murdered his father and grandparents and turned their deaths into a horcrux. He then started working on the

(A/N: reason why im really accurate with ritual explanation is that I have dabbled in ritualism and paganism in my youth.)

_First, draw outer circle of animal blood and light the colour-coordinated candles of elements. Second, the inner circle (made of salt) and draw the runes of 'Fehu' (power and control), 'Ansuz' (divine breath/creation), Eihwaz (yew), Berkana (birch), and the most important rune, Mannaz (man). _Tom remembered this particular ritual from a parselmagic tome. The 'Mannaz' would provide control over his older soul and thus, making the diary self, the main soul and heir of all the memories. Tom didn't feel remorse on tricking the soul in the stone because, in doing so, he would right the errors his older self had done. His youthful face was impassive as he spoke with words of power, "I bring, first, the sacrifice of own blood to the air." Three drops of blood touched the 'Fehu' rune and the north candle sparkled into a lone, yet bright flame. "I bring, second, the unborn of a phoenix to the fire." Tom cracked the dead egg upon the rune of 'Ansuz' and the west candle lit up, a signal of the correct ritual. "I bring, third, freely venom of a basilisk to the earth." The venom from his familiar burned the 'Eihwaz' rune and the east candle's flame flared errantly like a heart. The final step before placing the Dragonbreath opal, Tom's eyes took on a demonic glint of black as he spoke the final phrase to complete the ritual circle, "I bring forth willing blood of the unicorn to the water." The unicorn blood glowed glacial white upon the 'Berkana' rune, connecting the circle with the rest of the candles. Pure black and white magic surrounded the ritual circle, forming a sphere of unholy power. As Tom stepped on the 'Mannaz' rune, he summoned the Dragonbreath opal, which containing his older soul shard, onto the symbol of 'Eihwaz' and chanted, "_O magni virtute, et veterum fortis, exaudi vocem meam. Da mihi virtutem ligandi atque imperare animo! memoria mea fiet iterum meis! Mors et vita fiunt unum ... _(1)"

The grim wraith, that was his oldest self, was forced out of the stone, screeching with agony and pain. Swirls of darkness and violent winds masked the revolting face of the older Tom Riddle. The main soul snarled, "HOW DARE YOU TRICK ME! I AM STRONGER. I AM THE ONLY VOLDEMORT."

Paying no attention to the threat, the younger Tom did not stop chanting as ropes of magic bind the soul of the precious gem. Power coursed through the teenager's mouth as the magic of the ancients surged from within Tom's soul. The wraith gave a rattling gasp as the soul shard was combined with the larger soul piece of the younger Tom Riddle. Unholy, wild winds blew out the elemental candles with an unrivaled force, signalling the end of the ritual. Tom's knees gave out under him and he slumped to the ground. He gasped as the new memories were sealed, allowing gradual knowledge to seeped through. The sixteen year old promptly fell into a deep slumber, exhausted from using majority of his magical core to fuel the ritual.

Meanwhile, a young basilisk slithered into the ritual room and napped on his master's heaving chest. It would not allow any to harm his precious master. Unbeknownst to both parties in the room, a strange glow cocooned around the snake-childe and the handsome teen. It began to ensnare the two within the depths of their dreams.

* * *

A/N: I had a rough two weeks of college work and did not have time to update my current fic :c Ill explain more about the OC-ness of Tom in the next chapter. Please favorite/follow/review!

(1): Oh great ones of power, ancient and brave, heed my call. Give me strength to bind and control myself! Memories of my own shall become mine again! Death and life become one...


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